


Daddy Issues

by AnotherAnon0



Series: Seeking... Something [3]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Childhood Trauma, Extramarital Affairs, Guilty Pleasures, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tag: Nicholai is a Hoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24219082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Nicholai confuses Murphy.~Murphy gasped in righteous indignation, quickly sitting up and turning to face the older man, who had lit up a forbidden cigarette and was rudely using his small desk as an ashtray, "Could you not? Imma' get in trouble!""I could not." A heavy drag, "But I am."
Relationships: Murphy Seeker/Nikolai Zinoviev, Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Mikhail Victor
Series: Seeking... Something [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746628
Comments: 11
Kudos: 15





	Daddy Issues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xXxBishopxXx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxBishopxXx/gifts), [FanFicReader01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFicReader01/gifts), [lordbhreanna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordbhreanna/gifts).



> :) Part 1 takes place *after* parts 2 and 3, and can be read just an introduction to the series, but parts 2 and 3 are chronological.
> 
> I had no idea this would turn into a series, hence why this happened.

It had been two nights. 

Two nights and he was already desperate to see him again.

Murphy knew it was a stupid move to go to the Officer's quarters looking for Nicholai, but the nights sitting in darkness in the basement for hours, fruitlessly waiting for the relieving scent of cigarettes to infect his lungs were making him anxious. 

_Did I do something wrong?_

The hall was dark. It was late. He was walking as silently as he could, creeping along the dimmed, glossy linoleum as he made his way past the closed doors of offices he had been to so many times under so many different circumstances. 

But not like this. Never for this.

The L-shaped sliver of light at the end of the hall gave him some hope his risky endeavour hadn't been in vain. 

That hope rapidly dissipated as he approached the ajar door, and sounds that were too familiar creeped closer and closer to him just as he did to them.

A moan.

A sigh. 

A whimper.

Murphy's eyes widened, creamy hazel navigating the pin-thin crack in an attempt to take in the scene playing out just beyond the wooden partition. 

Nicholai's naked flesh was glistening with sweat, every muscle accentuated by the black slashes of shadows weaving delicately across the tight contours. His normally pale flesh had a golden glow under the light of the dim desk lamp -- one that was quivering with movement, dancing dangerously close to the edge of where the man's body was seated, hiked up on the wood surface.

Eyes closed and head cocked back, his lips were parted in pleasure, emitting suppressed, breathy moans.

The older man's muscular legs were wrapped tightly around the waist of a faceless, but unmistakable, figure.

_Cap..._

Unlike Nicholai, Mikhail wasn't totally undressed. Pants dropped around his boots, the Captain's thick thighs were rutting against the edge the desk as he muttered what Murphy identified as harsh Russian syllables into the crook of Nicholai's collarbone. Some seemed to make him whimper noisily, knees closing in against Mikhail's sides when a particular set of throaty sounds made their way into his ear. 

Nicholai's hands were occupied, slithering under the older man's undershirt, drawing the material up and down his back as he covered the broad surface, squeezing and scratching at the flesh. Squinting his eyes, Murphy could just barely make out red streaks. 

Raw. Primal. Masculine. Agressive.

Murphy felt himself beginning to take stock of the Sergeant's body. In their boiler-room meetings, he'd never been undressed beyond a zipper or button. Trailing up the long, dark contour of Nicholai's muscular calf, one that was trembling as it appeared to be trying to maintain grip at Mikhail's hips, Murphy caught himself licking his lips. There were tattoos on Nicholai's chest and shoulders he'd never knew he had, ones he couldn't quite make out -- the Sergeant didn’t like to expose himself, declining short-sleeved uniforms, and never peacocking shirtless like some of the men during summer training heatwaves.

When Murphy's eyes finally made their way up the contour of Nicholai's sinewy neck, he stopped short, a peeping gasp catching at the back of his throat.

Blue met hazel.

A devilish smirk.

_I'm sorry._

Murphy immediately turned, hastily padding quietly down the corridor, fear welling up in his throat as the familiar burn of a flush overtook his face. His temples began to trumpet with the familiar beginnings of a headache as his mind raced in confusion and anxiety -- uncertain questions beginning to accumulate with every step he made towards the common barracks. 

_Fuck._

_Fuck fuck fuck._

He didn't normally consider his dorm room a safe space. The windowless, white cement walls were so dark and dingy. But the _click_ of the door closing behind him was a relief Murphy savoured for the first time, immediately rushing to turn on his bedside light.

The bed told him to lay, and he submitted, not bothering to do so much as kick off his boots. First on his side, hands nestled against his chest as he mused over what he'd witnessed, and then on his back, staring at the ceiling which seemed to provide a projector-perfect movie of what was now burned into his mind.

Murphy watched it, over and over. Replaying every detail. Obsessing over them. 

His alarm clicked with a reminder of his motionless abandon of reality when the new hour hit, but he didn't move. He had decided he would lay there the whole night if he had to, mulling over something he had no business mulling over. He had resolved simply **_not_** to move.

_No._

He didn't move when the slow, steady knock at the door came, nor did he move when the door handle turned and the lock unlatched without resistance. He refused to be phased by the steps across the floor, clenching his eyes shut the moment the looming figure entered his line of vision.

" _Privyet_ , Seeker!" 

Murphy swallowed. 

"Why were you at my office?" Nicholai continued, pursing his lips in a comical simulacrum of confusion.

"I was... lookin' for you...?" 

The bed groaned and dipped with new weight. Even beyond closed lids, he could tell it had suddenly gotten much darker. Murphy's eyes fluttered open to see Nicholai straddling him carefully, arms on either side of his head. The older man had his head cocked in amusement.

" ** _But why_**?" A near-whisper breathily hushed against his forehead.

"You haven't been around in a few nights." The response was even quieter. 

"Does the _mal'chik yanki_ miss me that much?" Nicholai rubbed his lips together, scoffing a sarcastic laugh, "Did you enjoy the show at least?"

"Thought you don't like Cap'..." Murphy sniffed a squeak, biting his bottom lip as he tried to appear collected. 

"I **_hate_** him." Nicholai grinned, white teeth contrasted against ocean-blue eyes which were sparkling deviously, "He always feels like shit after he fucks me... He worries about his stupid wife."

Nicholai dismounted from the bed with a sigh. He loomed for a moment before disappearing from Murphy's line of vision.

Boots clicking against the floor. The scrape of the desk chair. A rustle of fabric as the other man sat.

Murphy crossed his arms, swallowing, eyes still firmly fixed at a patch of ceiling. "Well... Stop it then."

" _Nyet_."

" _Da_."

Nicholai snorted a laugh. More rustling fabric. A chipper _click_. The smell of smoke quickly followed.

Murphy gasped in righteous indignation, quickly sitting up and turning to face the older man, who had lit up a forbidden cigarette and was rudely using his small desk as an ashtray, "Could you not? Imma' get in trouble!" 

"I could not." A heavy drag, "But I am."

The younger man rubbed his freckled face in anguished frustration, turning to lay on his stomach so he could watch the older man with an expression dancing between confusion and hapless derision. From here, Murphy could assess the older man closely, in better light than the basement had provided. 

He wasn't much older than him -- Less than ten years separated them, if Murphy remembered the sneak-peek he had taken at the Sergeant's ID card during their last meeting. But Nicholai looked like he had been through countless, sleepless decades. It wasn't for wrinkles, scars, or the red rings below his eyes that indicated he'd not seen a night of proper rest -- but the look hidden away at the back of those impossibly blue eyes.

Those eyes were fixated at a point on the floor, wisps of smoke curling out of Nicholai's nose and slightly parted lips. He didn't seem to be exhaling, simply letting the toxic fumes flutter from his lungs casually. Murphy watched them curl up around the contours of his pale face, creepily dissipating into nothingness like lost souls.

The tiny room was getting hazy with smoke. Heavy with silence.

"Why are you such an asshole to everybody?" Murphy was surprised when the words left his mouth, a mutter that wasn't meant to be uttered. A thought that somehow slipped past the secure barrier of his lips. 

"You ask too many questions of me." Nicholai said, eyes blinking away from the spot he'd been fixated on, "We need to make a rule about that."

"Just answer."

"Because everyone is an asshole to me."

Murphy scoffed incredulously, "Everyone is just fine to you until you shit on 'em." The younger man curled his arms under his chin, propping his head up on his Marines tattoo, "You remind me of my dad like that."

Nicholai brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking a deep drag, eyes returning to the spot on the floor. He didn't answer.

"Dad was a piece of work. Thought the whole world was out to get him."

"You resent him for having a sense of self-preservation?" Nicholai said flatly, this time not looking up when Murphy replied.

"Self-preservation? Nothin' was good enough for that douchebag!" 

The older man smirked, "So you resent him for having a sense of self-preservation, _and_ high-expectations?"

Murphy's brown brow furrowed in frustration, casting a dark shadow over his hazel eyes.

"He was a fuckin' asshole."

Nicholai took a long, final drag of the diminished cigarette, inhaling deeply. "My father used to beat me until my eyes were so swollen I couldn't see." He exhaled, licking his thumb and forefinger before squeezing the burning tip of the short cigarette, which died with a rapid fizzle, "He used to put me and mama out in the snow overnight. My mama lost toes."

The younger man felt his heart sink into his stomach, "G... Geez, Nick... I didn't mean t--"

The cigarette went flying as Nicholai flicked it across the room unceremoniously. He licked his lips, looking at the younger man with a sardonic, pessimistic grimace.

" _That_ is asshole." He said, crossing his legs slowly and leaning in closer to Murphy, " _Not_ look out for self because see no one else will."

The words were more rushed, more intense than Murphy knew Nicholai wanted them to be. His accent was deeper than it normally was. His English worse. The twitch in his upper lip and the quickly deferred eye contact told him everything he needed to know. 

Silence. The old radiator clicked. Nicholai was slowing his breathing.

"I'm sorry."

The older man shrugged, clearing his throat after a moment, "I should not have brought it up."

Murphy watched the blue eyes quiver as a silent, psychic war was waged in the other man's mind. He could tell Nicholai was internally chastising himself. 

_Change the subject._

"How'd you say 'you're giving me second-hand lung cancer' in Russian?"

The tiny, sincere smile Nicholai flashed at him was worth it. Everything.

" _Ya ne trakhayus_ '."

The younger man shook his head over his crossed arms, grinning at the obviously incorrect translation, "I don't think that's it, but fine."

Nicholai uncrossed his legs and rose from the chair with a soft, calm sigh, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter from the desk and shoving them into his fatigue pocket before heading towards the door.

"You should just come here from now on... 'steada goin' to the basement."

_I like it when you're here._

Nicholai didn't stop walking, waving his hand over his shoulder in dismissal. 

"Risky."

Murphy smirked, feeling the older man's words bleed through his lips playfully.

"Cautiousness is cowardice."

The tiny glimpse Nicholai shot at him as he opened the door was a victory, even if it contained the violence of a speeding bullet.

**Author's Note:**

> Gifting this one to all of my new friends! :) I love you all. <3
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Privyet = Hello!
> 
> Mal'chik yanki = Yankee boy
> 
> "Ya ne trakhayus'." = I don't give a fuck.


End file.
